


Total Refresh

by stephanericher



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Other, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-11-02 21:20:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10952934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/pseuds/stephanericher
Summary: (Taiga always knows how to push Tatsuya the right way, a gentle shove in the right direction, and Daiki wonders if he’ll have to know Tatsuya this well for twenty years to get good at it sometimes.)





	Total Refresh

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: aokagahimu + gas station revivals (thanks bent!)
> 
> this may or may not be knbxnba idek

“Hey, can we stop there?”

Daiki leans forward in the backseat, poking his chin into Taiga’s shoulder. Up ahead is an old boxy building, a lot like the gas stations that dot the larger highways and the streets of the towns they’ve passed through but a little different, an image drawn from rusted-out memories. Tatsuya flicks on the turn signal.

“We’re already behind,” says Taiga, flexing his shoulder and pushing Daiki backward.

Daiki would put forth that this is a scenic cross-country road trip, and they’d abandoned the schedule that Tatsuya had hastily drawn out somewhere back in Delaware, if it was even that far. He could, but he’s already won and that might be gloating, so as they turn off the two-lane road and into the stop he sits back and folds his arms.

It’s apparently an actual, functioning gas station; Tatsuya pulls up to the pump and shrugs.

“Might as well fill up while we’re here.”

Daiki’s already opening the door to get out; the air stinks with the staleness of fuel but damn, it feels good to stretch his legs out properly. The backseat of Tatsuya’s car is roomy as those things go, but it’s not quite big enough for him to be comfortable for hours at a time. The front seat’s better, but Taiga still gets out, blinking up at the awning overhead and the building attached.

“I don’t get it. It’s just a gas station.”

Daiki rolls his eyes. “Of course you don’t.”

“The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“Children,” says Tatsuya, pulling out the gas pump. “Play nicely.”

Daiki drops his arm around Taiga’s shoulders. That should be nice enough, and it lets him exercise his height advantage as a bonus.

“Look. It’s like, old-fashioned and stuff,” says Daiki.

The bricks are worn, the glass on one window of the mini-mart cracked. The paint on the stripe at the top of the building is peeling, and the gutter is rusty. It has the same kind of superficially broken-down charm that bargain homes on those house-hunting shows have, and if it’s still standing there’s got to be something good.

Taiga shrugs. “I guess. It looks like they refurbished but didn’t bother to do any upkeep after that, though.”

“Really?” says Daiki.

“Yeah. Look.”

Taiga points to a plaque on the bottom corner; they walk toward it. Taiga hasn’t made any move to get out from under Daiki’s arm, and Daiki’s glad of it, the warmth of his skin comforting even on a hot afternoon like this. The words on the plaque are small; Daiki squints at them.

“Historic gas station…blah, blah, blah…restored 2003. See?” says Taiga. “If they haven’t done anything since then, well.”

Daiki yawns. “Still pretty modern. They had credit card readers at the pumps.”

“Don’t need a restoration to add those,” says Taiga. “Come on. I don’t want to make Tatsuya wait.”

Tatsuya’s leaning on the hood of the car, eye closed, hands in his pocket. He looks picturesque, fitting in with the surroundings like a photo in a museum of an old-time young man (never mind that the car’s not quite right). This is when Taiga ducks out of Daiki’s grip and closes the gap between him and Tatsuya in two strides. His hand’s on Tatsuya’s waist before Tatsuya’s ye opens, and speaking of picturesque. Taiga wears his heart on his sleeve, and his face, and all over; soft concern is written on his skin like a stain.

“You need me to take over?”

“I’m okay for a little while,” says Tatsuya. “I just needed a break.”

“You can take a longer one. We can drive.”

“I know,” says Tatsuya. “Thank you.”

“Let me do it?”

(Taiga always knows how to push Tatsuya the right way, a gentle shove in the right direction, and Daiki wonders if he’ll have to know Tatsuya this well for twenty years to get good at it sometimes.)

“Okay,” says Tatsuya.

He leans in to kiss Taiga softly, and some kind of feeling races up Daiki’s arms and down his torso. There’s nothing that gets to him like how into each other Taiga and Tatsuya are, the soft line of Taiga’s hand cupping Tatsuya’s jaw, the angle of Tatsuya’s face turned up toward Taiga’s.

Tatsuya smiles at Daiki when he pulls back.

“Did you want to take pictures?”

It’s a good idea; he’d just wanted to get out and look and stretch his legs but it’s pretty. Daiki pulls out his phone and takes a few, the shadows under the awning, the two-lane highway in the background and the sharp angles of the building rising against the flat ground. He walks over to Tatsuya and Taiga, pulls Tatsuya in by the waist. Taiga’s still clinging to him, and Daiki has to hold his phone a little farther so they all get in the frame. It’s worth it to get everything, Tatsuya’s cheek pressed against his t-shirt and the peeling sunburn on Taiga’s nose in the soft light of the afternoon shade. Daiki takes three or four and then shoves his phone back into his pocket.

“You ready?”

“Anything from the mini-mart?” says Taiga.

“You going?” says Tatsuya.

“Sure,” says Taiga.

“Seltzer.”

Taiga doesn’t check with Daiki, which is pretty fucking rude—not that Daiki wants anything anyway. Up this close the smudge under Tatsuya’s eye is clear; he never sleeps all that well but at this moment he definitely needs rest.

“You want the backseat?”

Tatsuya shrugs. “Front’s fine.”

(It’s better for when he wants to put his feet up or fiddle with the radio even though Taiga’s the one who’s driving, because Taiga lets him get away with that shit—Daiki would, too, if Tatsuya ever tried it with him, but he’s not going to let Tatsuya know that.)

Taiga reappears a few minutes later, a lime seltzer for Tatsuya and a can of iced tea for himself—and one for Daiki, too.

“They had raspberry here.”

“Thank you,” Daiki says, swooping in for a kiss to Taiga’s neck.

Tatsuya falls asleep before the gas station is out of sight in the rearview mirror, and Daiki nods off not soon after, the lull of the traffic radio and weak sun and the steady sound of the tires against the road settling him in. He glances up at the mirror once, barely fighting to keep his eyes open, and Taiga’s smiling.


End file.
